Weak Tea, America, and Other Irritating Things
by AliceUnderSkies13
Summary: For hundreds of years, England has kept a diary chronicling his history, his thoughts, maybe even how he feels about a certain bespectacled American.
1. Entry 1: April 27, 1584

**A/N: I decided to re-post this story, minus America's commentary. Honestly, I absolutely HATED what I did with the commentary, it just took away from the story. So enjoy this Britain's Diary, minus America's overwhelming stupidity lol. Enjoy and please review :).**

* * *

April 27, The Year of Our Lord 1584

Dear Diary,

Weather, rainy…

Well, of course it is, it rains here every bloody day, doesn't it?

Today, I set out across the vast sea to the New World, in hopes that I can finally colonize that blasted place. And I better snatch it up quick, can't have France getting his filthy hands on it first.

No, the New World will be a part of the British Empire, I can feel it. A month ago, Queen Elizabeth I granted a charter for the first colony to be established. Such a wonderful, refined woman, now I'm feeling all patriotic. I'm trying not to break out into "God Save the Queen" while I write this.

Oh, how adorable, it's like flying mint bunny and Uni can read my mind! They're singing it, too! Now I have to join in, can't let them have all the fun.

(It would be nice to hear Captain Hook sing along too, he's splendid at harmonizing, but unfortunately he hasn't been invented yet…)

* * *

All right, well that was embarrassing…

What?

Like I'm going to tell you what just happened?! You're just a stupid diary; I don't have to tell you!

Maybe I was singing with all my magical friends and the ship's first mate just happened to walk in and see me, maybe I was dancing with flying mint bunny as well, maybe I was talking about how naughty Captain Hook is—

What, he hasn't been invented yet?! Who cares what you think, you blasted collection of parchment!

I'm the bloody captain of this ship, I'm Britain! And you're just a, a book, that's what you are.

I don't want to talk to you anymore, you empty headed animal food trough wiper. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries!

Oh who cares if Monty Python hasn't been invented yet!

Who made you the king of proper literary allusions? You're an allegorical Nazi, that's what you are. Now good day to you sir—

And yes I know Nazi's don't exist yet either! Aaaaaargghhhhh, you are so irritating! Don't make me revert back to my pirate days; I'll go all Calico Jack on your leather arse!

AND I KNOW HE WON'T BE AROUND FOR ANOTHER NINTY-EIGHT YEARS!

* * *

10:05 PM

After reading my last entry, I realize how childish it is to fight with an inanimate object made of leather and pieces of parchment that I bought for two shillings.

Clearly, it is Uni's fault for coercing me into waltzing with flying mint bunny, so both of them will be getting a sound thrashing after I finish writing this.

The New World awaits, and it's only a few months away. Hopefully, I'll be able to escape the annoyances of that wanker, France, the pressures of everyday life as such a powerful country, and the idiocy of leather bound diaries like this one…

Well, I must be going. I'm in desperate need of a cup of tea and I have a few thrashings to hand out.


	2. Entry 2: July 4, 1584

July 4, The Year Of Our Lord 1584

Dear Diary,

Woke up early this morning to watch the sun rise over the Atlantic.

Standing on the ship's bow, the wind coursing through my hair, the kiss of salt on my cheeks…it reminds me of the good old pirate days.

Once the Golden Age of Piracy rolls around, I must get back on the high seas. Just sixty-six more years to go until the buccaneering era! I have enough Shakespearean plays and cups of tea to last me until then.

I'm tired of all these bloody wars with France, I'd love to just commandeer one of these magnificent ships from the Royal Navy and sail forever. Of course, I'd fall off the end of the Earth, according to all those blasted fools who still think the world's flat. Many educated people are saying it is rounding…sounds plausible to me.

Besides, flying mint bunny says that he's flown all over the world, and that it is most definitely round. Obviously, he knows what he's talking about.

And as I look at the sprawling ocean before me, watching the dolphins frolic amongst the waves, making sweet dolphin love like a pair of star crossed young lovers, I know that this world never ends. It is a circle, a never-ending ring of beauty and magic.

* * *

9:13 AM

Ok, what the bloody hell was that?!

I don't even remember writing such a ridiculous, sappy, humiliating entry!

"making sweet dolphin love like a pair of star crossed young lovers?" Who says that!?

I sound like such an uphill gardener, I must have been intoxicated or something. Yeah, that's it, because there is no way I'm becoming a fruity wanker like France!

Ok, Britain, calm yourself. You are the greatest Empire since the Romans; you won The Battle of Agincourt for God's sake!

True, you did lose the Hundred Years War to France…

Oh shut up, would you? I'm embarrassed enough; I don't need berating from myself.

All right, I just need a cup of tea and one of my delicious homemade scones. That will calm me down. I must go and prepare my scone, good bye for now.

* * *

12:42 PM

What a splendid lunch.

I don't care what people say, (and by people I mean France), my cooking is scrumptious. I guess other countries just don't understand the delicate subtlety of a freshly brewed cup of tea combined with a crispy vanilla scone…

Again with the fruity language! What is this madness, some kind of ancient magical curse?

Hmm, maybe the troubled waters of the Atlantic have cast an "Act Gay" spell on me. Or maybe a witch has snuck aboard my ship?

It's possible; there are hundreds of witches back home. It's been hard work, burning them all. I hope the New World is free of old, ugly women who live alone at the edge of town. Because of course, any old, ugly woman who lives at the edge of town is most certainly a witch.

So what if I practice magic, too? I'm no witch; witches are clearly of the female gender. And I can be hypocritical if I want to, I beat France at Agincourt!

And I know that I lost the war, but…wait a second, one of the crew just spotted land!

There, I can see it on the horizon! Oh, how it rises up out of the sea like a sparkling green emerald, I feel a bout of inspired poetry coming on.

_There is a tide in the affairs of men,_

_Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune._

_Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries._

_On such a full sea are we now afloat._

_And we must take the current when it serve, or lose our ventures. _

Yes, I have taken the current, and now I am here, in the New World!

Aaaarggghh it happened again! Maybe France really has rubbed off on me. Or maybe I should see a physician?

Oh, never mind. I need to focus on the New World. According to my map, we are about to land on Roanoke Island, sounds like a pleasant place.

P.S- I feel compelled to say it…that poem was quite good. When I return home, I should show it to Shakespeare, he might like it…


	3. Entry 3: July 15, 1587

July 15, The Year of Our Lord 1587

Dear Diary,

So much time has passed since we landed on Roanoke Island.

You might be a collection of parchment bound with leather, but you're a nosy little wanker, so I'll fill you in.

Two years ago, the colonists decided to return home. Apparently the conditions weren't up to their standards, rotten, spoiled, bloody little devils!

Sure, they were out of food and being attacked by savages, but that's no excuse for abandoning the colony!

And that blasted Sir Francis Drake; he sailed up in his fancy wannabe pirate ship and offered them a ride home! Are you kidding me?!

What kind of treachery is this?

I swear, by all the powers of my magical friends, I will take revenge against the despicable Francis Drake. He better watch his back, because in sixty-three years, when The Golden Age of Piracy is here, I will be there…breathing down his neck, my sword against his throat.

I'm getting off-track…anyways, this year I decided to send a new group of colonists to Roanoke.

It's been a few months since they arrived on the island, so I am going to check on them.

I am truly a proper English gentleman, sailing across the dangerous ocean in order to make sure my people are safe.

Hopefully, all is well and they are thriving. If another pompous wanker took them back home, I just might explode. And then I'll have to write an angry letter, thrash whoever stole my colonists, and then drown myself in rum and scones. Hope I don't have to do that, I'm not much of a drinker…

Though I am not a lightweight! France can laugh and call me that all he wants, but I still won Agincourt and he still hasn't had a decent French leader.

Sure, he had Joan of Arc, but she was a woman so she doesn't count.

It's time for my afternoon tea, so I must depart. And my scones are almost ready.

Sigh, my life is a constant battle between looking good and devouring a whole bag of scones…

If only I could find someone else who likes my cooking, then I wouldn't have to eat it all myself…


	4. Entry 4: July 22, 1587

July 22, The Year of Our Lord 1587

Dear Diary,

Merlin's Beard, what has happened here?

I just landed on Roanoke Island today, and all of the colonists are present, but the relief fleet…they're gone.

They were a good group of men, strong and true scone-loving. I was counting on them to help reestablish the colony, and now they've vanished.

But the weirdest part…I found a single skeleton, just one skeleton.

Could it be one of them?

Now the colonists are worried, but they cannot leave!

I need this colony, it must be reestablished! These blasted people keep whining about savages and a lack of provisions, blah, blah, blah.

Oh come on, they see one skeleton and suddenly it's the end of the world.

We are not leaving.

I will colonize this New World, and then the sun will never set on the British Empire.


	5. Entry 5: August 8, 1588

August 8, The Year of Our Lord 1588

Dear Diary,

I just crushed the Spanish Armada.

I'm the king of the world, the Albus Dumbledore of the seafaring world, the head knight of the round table, the Paul McCartney of all naval captains, the One Ring to rule them all!

That's all I have to say.


	6. Entry 6: August 15, 1590

August 15, The Year of Our Lord 1590

Dear Diary,

I…I have no words to describe this.

Well, here are five words:

ROANOKE WAS A COMPLETE DISASTER.

Last night, I went on a little hunting trip with flying mint bunny, and the next morning, when I returned to the colony, it was empty.

All 117 colonists have vanished into thin air!

Witchcraft!

I scoured the colony, checking every nook and cranny. And I found nothing.

Nothing but one word carved into a tree, Croatoan.

Surely it must be some kind of demon. It's like everyone's just been spirited away.

And now I'm sitting next to a dismantled house, rain is falling and your pages are stained with a mix of raindrops and my tears.

Roanoke Colony is lost.

What happened here? How could 117 people just disappear?

A few years ago, I was thinking about power and glory, the promise of this New World. But now, nothing has gone as planned.

I can't give up. This land may be wild and untamed, but I know I can survive it. I'll find another place; I'll journey across this vast continent and establish a new colony.

I just can't afford to think negatively now.

I will search until I find that speck of hope in this unknown world, this America.


	7. Entry 7: May 13, 1607

May 13, The Year of Our Lord 1607

Dear Diary,

It has been quite a while since I have written in your pages, you nosy little wanker.

What? Oh, don't get offended, that's just my term of endearment for you, you nosy, dirty, French-loving little wanker.

…

Fine, I apologize for calling you a wanker. I've just been so frustrated, roaming around this wilderness, and I had to take my anger out on someone…

And it just happened to be you, my dear diary.

All right, shut up already, I just apologized! No need to get your knickers in a twist.

Blimey, I must be getting lightheaded from lack of food. Talking to an inanimate object, now that's just ridiculous. But I have to talk to you, you're my only companion.

Yes, you heard me right, you're my ONLY companion. I told Uni and flying mint bunny to return home, it will be safer for them there. Also, I'm hoping that one of them has the common sense to send help…

They better send help! I'm out here, all alone, my provisions are running low, and I cannot find a proper place to colonize!

This land is swarming with savages and sickness, and the winters are absolutely brutal!

At least I don't have to worry about France colonizing before me; he's too much of a pansy to weather such harsh conditions.

And it's a good thing that winter-loving Russia just suffered a famine, I most certainly do not want him here. He would turn this place into a snowy wasteland, a lifeless crust of ice floating atop the Atlantic.

Hmm, such a poetic last line. Here, another burst of creativity has surged through my veins!

_Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,  
The seasons' difference, as the icy fang  
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,  
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,  
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile._

Well then, that was a little morbid. But it is an accurate description of winter, so it's pretty good I guess.

Aarrgh, I don't have time for poetry! I need to establish another colony!

This is so aggravating…no water, no tea, no scones, nothing but endless forest. All though, it is rather beautiful here.

Reminds me of the ancient days, when I would sit around a campfire, dressed in a bearskin or some barbaric garb like that, and tell stories to all those who would listen. Those were the days of magic, and that was when I met Uni and flying mint bunny!

Such lovely times, people were constantly taking revenge on each other, there were monsters around every corner, and we all drank and sang in the mead hall…

Oh what am I saying?! Those were awful times, so uncivilized! That was when that pompous wanker Beowulf showed up from Denmark, thinking he was a better warrior than us Englishmen!

The nerve of him…he sounds like Francis Drake.

Great, now I'm even more irritated! God curse Beowulf, Drake, and Uni and flying mint bunny for not sending a relief fleet!

Ok, I need to cool my head. Maybe I can find some tea leaves growing around here, though I highly doubt it…

* * *

11:05 PM

While hunting, I saw a rabbit nibbling on a berry bush.

Flying mint bunny's adorable face popped into my head, and I didn't have the heart to kill it. So, I ate the berries instead. They weren't too bad, almost as good as my vanilla scones.

Sigh, this is what the great Britain has been reduced to…too soft to kill a rabbit, his clothes all ripped up, huddled against a measly fire just trying to keep warm.

Please, Lord, just send a thunderbolt now and free me from this life of French wankers and bloody, un-killable bunnies!

Did I seriously just make up a word? "Un-killable" what kind of nonsense is that?

Not only am I tired and starving, but I'm also butchering the English language…well isn't that just bloody wonderful?

Well, I really need to get some sleep, so I'm going to curl up against the fire and pray that a savage doesn't slit my throat in the night.

Good night my leather-bound, loose-leafed wanker.


	8. Entry 8: May 14, 1607

May 14, The Year of Our Lord 1607

3:22 AM

Dear Diary,

Can't sleep.

I just don't know what to do. Everything is so strange here…

I wonder how my people will survive this unforgiving land, and if I'll ever make it a part of my Empire.

The people here must be so wild and free…I wonder if I'll ever meet one?

I bet they'll be beautiful, whoever they are. Dangerous, yes, but beautiful.

* * *

10:16 AM

All right, listen up you wanker, I have important news.

God did not send a thunderbolt my way. Instead, I was awoken early this morning by a rather small index finger poking me in the face.

"Hey…hey, mister, you ok?"

"Huh?" I groggily opened my eyes and found myself staring at a little kid.

A little boy dressed in a white shirt…or maybe it was dress, I'm not sure…and a red ribbon tied around his neck.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, he looked just like a little English child.

"Are you one of the children from the Roanoke Colony!?" I shouted, grabbing hold of the boy.

It was stupid, really, thinking that he was one of the lost colonists, it's been years since those people vanished.

"Colony…" the boy repeated, then he looked up at me with his startlingly blue eyes. "I'm not from any colony, mister."

"T-Then where's your home?" I sputtered like a complete idiot.

What? Don't look at me like that, I was just shocked. This kid wakes me up and he's all alone. Children should not be wandering the woods unsupervised, it's dangerous.

I looked at the boy. "Where did you come from?"

"From here." He pointed to a tree.

"What in the bloody hell does that mean?!"

"You look funny when you raise your bushy eyebrows, mister, but just listen. I'm from here, too." He pointed to a rock. "And here." The earth. "And there." The sky.

"I don't understand."

"This place, it's like a part of me. I don't know who my parents are, so everything, the land, the sky, the trees, they're all my family!"

"So you live here, in these dark and ominous woods?"

"They're only dark at night!" the little boy said with a smile. "I love it here, everything's so cool and pretty. Now come on, I'll show you something!"

Before I could stop him, he grabbed my hand and pulled me through the forest . Blimey, that kid was strong, he was practically dragging me across the dirt.

And then we were in a field, a beautiful place full of lush, green grass. The sky was blue, the wind was blowing, I'd never seen such a place.

"This is it, my home!" The boy threw out his arms and grinned.

"It's so beautiful…the skies are so…spacious."

"Mister, I was just wondering, why did you come here? No one ever comes to visit me."

"You mean you live out here all by yourself?" I asked him. "Aren't you scared, living alone?"

"Not really. I've always been on my own."

"On your own," I said quietly. This boy, he looked so fragile and small. I suddenly felt a need to protect him. "Hey, um , what's your name, little one. I'm Britain."

"My name's America, it's great to meet you, Britain!"

America, a name with so many fabled meanings. Is it Norse for "farthest outland", Gothic for "Kingdom of Heaven", or does it come from that explorer, Amerigo Vespucci? I don't know, and at that moment, I really didn't care. I just stood there, staring at the little boy called America.

Before I could say anything else, he said, "But I'm glad I found you, it's nice to make new friends!"

"Oh, uh, friends…all right, if you say so."

"Hooray! I think you're really cool, mister, so I'll show you around." He grabbed my hand again and started running through the tall grass. "Come on, there's all kinds of animals here. Deer, bears, bunny rabbits!"

Hmm, he likes rabbits…I might actually like this kid.

So there, you leathered wanker, that's my story. And now I'm sitting amidst the tall grass, watching as America makes a flower crown.

Look at that, I've already taught him how to do something. Granted, making flower crowns isn't all that important, but it's still a refined and subtle art. Let me explain how to properly construct one, first—

Uh, America just put the crown on my head…And he's smiling at me.

What are you smiling at me for, kid? I should give him a good thrashing for breaking my concentration.

No, I can't do that…

He's still smiling at me, what does he want?!

…

He just told me that I look really pretty, like a big, pretty flower with bushy eyebrows…

Ok, I'm, officially too embarrassed to keep writing. Can feel my cheeks burning…

Oh this is bloody ridiculous; I'll just pick up where I left off later.


	9. Entry 9: December 24, 1614

December 24, The Year of Our Lord 1614

Happy Christmas Eve!

And what a truly happy time it is. These past seven years have been kind to me and my people...sort of.

Sure, 1609 to 1610 was known as the "Starving Time", and people had to live in cave-like holes in the ground, but it wasn't too bad. And so what if people were so hungry they resorted to cannibalism? It turned out all right, even though one man salted and ate his wife. Eighty percent of the original colonists may have died, but we are doing just fine now!

Ever since that supply mission arrived on June 10, 1610, everything has been much better. We are growing tobacco now, which brings in a good profit.

Smoking is rather enjoyable, I must say. And it feels like such a healthy habit, I feel more physically fit each time I light up.

1614 is truly a wonderful time to be alive.

Now I should tell you about my new colony. I established it in Virginia, named after our glorious virgin queen, Elizabeth. Though I commend her on her celibacy, I am still rather confounded at her actions. Why would anyone want to abstain from…

All right, I need to get my mind out of the gutter. It must be all this time away from home, away from all the beautiful women…all the gorgeous English women with their soft lips that taste of tea and their pale skin that's never seen a ray of sunlight and their tiny waists inside their organ-crushing corsets that are surprisingly easily to take off—

Nevermind! I am a gentleman, not some sketchy wanker. France is a wanker, and a player, and he's not even that attractive.

My hair is very sexy, and in the future, girls will swoon in the presence of Englishmen. I mean, there's The Beatles, not to mention that attractive bloke, Tom Felton, and those five adorable boys who sing that extremely catchy song.

Wait, what?

Who are you to hate on them, you stupid leather-bound wanker?

One Direction really isn't that bad. Sure, they could never compare to The Beatles, especially the wonderful Sir Paul McCartney, but they aren't awful. I'd date them…if I was a girl.

But I'm a man, so nevermind.

Oh shut up, diary!

I am not a fairy, ok? I was using a hypothetical situation.

I am a manly pirate, so shut up!

…

Anyways, this is a very good time indeed. Jamestown, the name of my new colony, is thriving.

All though, the appointed leader, John Smith, was wounded by a gunpowder "accident" recently, and he is going back home. Oh well, I never liked him anyways.

He's an arrogant, flamboyant wanker that acted like he was in charge, even though I am clearly superior to him in cleverness, strength, and overall sexiness.

It's true! Smith is a fat, old man with an unkempt beard. Nothing like the "John Smith" in that Disney movie.

Seriously, Disney made him look way better than he actually is.

And that nonsense with Pocahontas, all a bunch of rubbish.

He waltzed back here one day claiming that a beautiful Indian princess had saved his life. So I went to see the savages, met their leader, Powhatan, and saw Pocahontas.

She's fourteen…fourteen for God's sake!

Bloody hell, she's a kid! And trust me, she's no looker.

Now I'll tell you who's growing up to be quite the looker, my little America. Looks like a proper Englishman, just a little bit on the wilder side.

He runs around the colony, talking to everyone and always smiling. He's so friendly.

A little social butterfly, always willing to engage in conversation. Granted, the conversation isn't always polite…he has a habit of being inappropriate at times, showing people the bugs he's caught and being a little too blunt.

But he means well, and he really does try to help everybody he meets.

I like him. He's a good kid.

I wonder if the whole "John Smith gunpowder accident" was his doing…haha.

Well, I must go and help the colonists. We're busy building a church, and then we have to continue constructing the wall around the colony.

I see America chopping wood from where I'm sitting. Such a strong kid.

Oh, he just waved at me. How nice.

Now I really must go.

Have a jolly day, my dear, dear diary.

* * *

11:27 PM

I might be a little tipsy, just a little bit.

But I can't help it…it's Christmas Eve! People are still singing, dancing, and drinking rum. It's a marvelous party.

It is quite freezing, but I don't care. Wrapped up in a blanket, a fire roaring in front of me, I feel surprisingly warm. Maybe it's more of a spiritual warmth, watching my people smile makes my soul feel happy and hopeful.

Maybe it's the fact that Christmas is approaching. The trees are covered with icicles, the ground is a blanket of white, and the air is filled with snowflakes. A few fall on my face, get caught between my eyelashes.

One just fell on your yellowed pages, my dear diary.

Another just fell on America's forehead. He's asleep, his head in my lap.

Blonde bangs fall in front of his closed eyes. The thin membrane of his eyelid, fluttering like a butterfly, covering the brilliance of his blue irises. A sheen of sweat from the fire covers his skin. Flames dance across his pale arms.

He's breathing deeply, the snowflakes spiraling in and out of his mouth each time he heaves a sigh.

I'm getting poetic again, I really need to stop.

But he just looks so cute.

I need to continue protecting him. The colony may be flourishing, but the world is still dangerous. America needs me to watch over him.

I must protect him from savages, famine, war, and the ever encroaching France.

That fruity wanker has his eye on America, I can tell. But there's no way he's taking America from me.

There's no way.


	10. Entry 10: August 16, 1627

August 16, The Year of Our Lord 1627

Dear Diary,

I feel bloody awful. My never-ending battle between Catholicism and Protestantism just keeps going, doesn't it?

Curse you, Henry VIII; you just had to break away from the church, didn't you? And all because of Anne Boleyn… though I would have done the same thing in all honesty. She was one hell of a woman…yes she was…

Anyway, let me explain my predicament. This year, I sent troops to back the French Protestants against the Catholic government. Hooray for the Huguenots!

What did you say? I'll back anyone who hates France?! That is a load of rubbish. I am not some petty child caught up in a quarrel. I just take advantage of any opportunity to kick France's arse. He deserves it...the drunken, fruity, wanker.

Besides, he's been after America. He has his own colonies now, some measly little hellholes up north. "New France" he calls it, please.

Yes, yes, I know I've caused him a lot of pain, taking settlements from him, maybe even trying to establish my own little colonies…

But, trust me, he DESERVES it!

That blasted wandering eye of his has been all over America. I will not tolerate such a thing!

And now I've gotten myself into this bloody Anglo-French War…somebody kill me.

No, not literally. It was a metaphorical statement you uneducated leather wanker. Geez, go read a book.

I would read something, maybe a Shakespearean play or a few of his sonnets…but I'm just too tired to get up off this chair. Honestly, I have no idea how I even have the strength to write.

Fighting with France has drained all of my energy. I have a pounding headache and everything hurts.

Oh stop being such a pansy, England. Pull yourself together. You defeated the Spanish Armada, you established the British Empire, you won at Agincourt!

Agincourt…yeah, Agincourt was a fine day, a bloody day, a bloody fine day…Ok, I'm seriously delirious; I'm taking a nap.

* * *

2:05 PM

Well, I slept until noon. How unbecoming of me. I don't really remember much about falling asleep, just that I was sitting in my settee, the one with the tapestry of Joan of Arc on it…

Hold on, I think France gave me that settee! Why the bloody hell do I still have it?!

Doesn't matter, I'll deal with that piece of, of…whatever it is later.

So I was sitting on that thing and I drifted off, I guess. Dreams, weird, dreams, settled on my mind. Herds of flying mint bunnies flew by; Captain Hook was doing something rather odd with Uni.

And then it all changed. I looked up and saw America standing in the attic window of a house. He looked down at me, little hands pressed against the glass.

His eyes were so blue and so wide. He almost looked scared. I tried calling out to him, but before I could even open my mouth, the house caught fire.

Flames, flames everywhere. America screamed, I screamed, and then I was awake, sitting in that dreadful settee.

I flinched; my forehead collided with something hard.

"Ow! Big Brother, you smacked me in the face!"

"Huh?" Rubbing my eyes, my vision clearing, I saw him there. America.

Little black trousers that he had rolled up to the knee, which was very untidy I might add, a white long sleeve shirt with an evergreen vest, and that cute red bow I tie around his neck every once in a while.

He did look pretty adorable.

But of course his hair was a mess and his shirt was un-tucked, but oh well. That's my America.

I suddenly realized that he was rubbing his nose. It was bright red.

Dammit…that was my fault, wasn't it?

"America, did I hurt you? Are you all right? You know you shouldn't hover over me while I'm sleeping!"

"I'm fine, chill out," he said, giggling. "You always overreact, it's so funny!"

I could feel my face redden. "I am not overreacting, young man! Now let me take a look at your nose!"

"No, it's fine, really. Just relax, Big Brother." He patted me on the head, which was slightly uncomfortable. "Take deep breaths, bro. It's all good."

What was this hippy talk? Spending too much time with the pipe-smoking natives I guess, the strange boy. I sighed and tried very hard not to fall back asleep.

I still had a headache, and my blasted arm was starting to hurt.

"Woah!" America exclaimed, pointing at my arm. "Look at the bruise, it's so awesome! You get into so many fights, Big Brother, and I bet the other guy looks way worse! I bet you win them all!"

"If only that were true," I said with a nervous laugh. I didn't really want to talk about my constant battles with France. America is still young; he shouldn't have to experience war until he's much older.

"Now why were hovering over me in the first place?" I asked, trying to change the subject. "It's not safe to do that while people are sleeping."

"Well, uh…actually, I wanted to wake you up so I could read to you."

My face must have looked so stupid and blank. "What?"

He smiled and held out his arms, which were full of books. "You've been coming home late a lot, and you're always hurt. Battle scars are pretty awesome…but I feel bad cause you get hurt all the time. So I thought I'd read you some of those boring stories you used to read to me. To make you feel better."

This ridiculous grin was spread across his face, his cheeks slightly red, his blue eyes sparkling like stars.

I caved.

"S-sure, America. That's kind of you…but, uh…"

"But what, big brother?"

"How do I put this…" I muttered. "Are you sure you even know how to read? I mean, you're a very smart lad, but you never really paid attention when I read to you."

He burst out laughing after I said this. "Course I can read! I listened to all your stories about heroes and dragons and stuff! Like King Arthur, I remember that one."

"Oh, do you?" I said with a smile. "That's one of my favorites. Here, sit next to me, America."

"So you'll let me read to you? Awesome!" He jumped up on the settee, squeezing himself between me and the armrest.

It was a tight fit to say the least. That bloody piece of furniture, what a piece of French rubbish, can't even hold two people!

But it wasn't so bad. I let America pick out a book and then he began to read. Now, my America isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he sure has a lot of determination. He struggled through The Death of King Arthur, which I ripped from his hand when it mentioned the affair between Guinevere and Lancelot.

I will not allow him to be corrupted! Not by France and not by some book, either!

So I selected A.A Milne's Winnie the Pooh. A much more appropriate fit for a young country.

And yes, I'm aware that Winnie the Pooh technically hasn't been written yet, but I know about Frodo Baggins and Harry Potter and they won't be around for another three centuries. What are you going to do about that you leathery wanker?

That's what I thought.

I woke up from my nap at noon; it's two in the afternoon now. America's been reading for two hours.

He absolutely butchers some of the words. A few seconds ago he exclaimed, "I'll make my own kind of English someday. This stuff is way too complicated," but I don't mind.

His voice is soothing. It makes me forget about the war and all of my mounting problems. High-pitched, young, and yet it's got a unique rasp to it. Not quite an English gentleman, not quite a wild savage. America is somewhere in between.

Careless, carefree, loyal, and kind.

Listening to him read, I realize just how young he still is. But there's strength in him. I can see the muscles in his arms. Someday, he will be a powerful country, I can tell.

He's reading Peter Pan now. "Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it."

So tired, so very tired. That voice, it's lulling me to sleep. I can feel my pen slipping from my hand. Just a little while longer, England, just listen a bit more.

Yes, he'll be powerful. And we'll rule the British Empire together…side by side…a king and his lionheart.

"Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting."

Never goodbye…we will always be together… I can feel it.

My eyelids are drooping. I need to stop reading before I...


	11. Entry 11: February 18, 1637

February 18, The Year of Our Lord 1637

Today was wretched! It's bloody humiliating, what Spain did to me. That tomato-loving git. He needs to back off my ships!

What, you don't understand what happened? Well, I'll explain it to you, you leather wanker.

A Spanish fleet, led by some idiot admiral with a ridiculous name, intercepted one of my merchant convoys. He captured and/or destroyed twenty of the forty-four ships! Twenty for God's sake!

Profits have been lost. Goods have been lost. My pride has been lost!

Ok, maybe not my pride. It was only twenty ships…I'm a bloody empire, twenty measly ships shouldn't matter. Besides, I kicked his Armada's arse.

I'm just being dramatic about the whole thing. After all, I am known to have some of the best playwrights. That reminds me, Shakespeare has been sending me sonnets. How nice.

It's rather lovely, actually. He addresses me as the "Fair Youth" in his sonnets. What a kind bloke. Though I'm not exactly a youth, if you know what I mean.

Wow, I never noticed the dates on these poems. He wrote these quite a while ago, it seems…a REALLY long time ago. Good Lord, the last one was written forty-three years ago! Why am I just now—

Oh, wait…he's dead. He died in 1616, how did I forget that?

No, no, no! Now I have to relive this grief all over again. Poor William, he was a good friend.

What are you saying, you leathery wanker? William and I were just friends…strictly friends, you bloody idiot! You are a disgusting creature, you know that?

Anyways, I cannot believe I forgot about his death.

Dear me, I am becoming more and more scatterbrained. So many things have been happening lately. I've been colonizing like a madman.

Massachusetts Bay, Maryland. I feel overwhelmed.

But I feel happy, too.

Everything is finally going smoothly. My colonies are prospering, France and I are on decent terms, and America…oh, my sweet America.

In all honesty, he is my pride and joy.

He travels with me to each and every colony. Visiting with the townspeople, playing with the animals.

He found a cat the other day and begged me to let him keep it.

"Oh please, Big Brother! I'll take good care of him!"

I wasn't sure what to do. "Uh, I'm not sure, America. It's a wild cat, it might be dangerous. And it's a big responsibility, taking care of an animal."

"But look at him, he's so cute!" He snuggled the cat against his chest. It meowed and licked his cheek.

I could feel my face burning. My God, he is so adorable.

Brown vest and sloppy bow tie. High socks and those little shoes, those cute little shoes that I brought over from London.

Ok, England, stop it.

And you stop it, too, you stupid diary! I am not America's "fanboy", whatever the bloody hell that means.

Anyways, I caved and let him keep the cat.

Hmm, maybe I should get one.

Tomorrow, I want to take America to the seashore. I can show him one of my ships, let him pretend that he's a pirate. We can watch the sunrise paint the sky pink and gold.

Yes, tomorrow we will go to shore. I'm tired and in desperate need of a holiday.

Well, I must go, you little wanker. America is curled up on the floor, asleep. Why does he always fall asleep on the floor?

It's so…unsanitary.

But I love him, anyways.

I need to put him to bed, so fare thee well.


	12. Entry 12: February 19, 1637

February 19, The Year of Our Lord 1637

Sitting on the sand, I watch America play in the water. It was a good idea to bring him here. He seems to love the ocean.

He also loves throwing things into it…hopefully this doesn't become a habit.

Well, my dear diary, I am writing in a new kind of handwriting today. Spencerian script, a curvy and quite loopy design.

Hmm, I kind of like it. A little flowery for my taste, but still nice. It reminds me a little bit of France….oh Lord help me.

Why I keep thinking about that fruity wanker, I will never know. I should be thinking about my America. I see him standing there, amongst the waves.

Water laps at his feet. The salt breeze tousles his hair. Blue eyes like the sea, like the churning sky above. The lamp hiding amidst the clouds illuminates his entire form.

And not just his physical form. That lanky little body full of muscle and spirit.

The form of his land, too. The coasts, the mountains, the plains and the open sky. When I look at America, I see all of these things. I see promise and hope within that young face.

His smile makes me want to smile.

Ok, now I'm getting carried away.

I dig my toes into the sand. Hold on a moment, you leathery wanker, I have to think for a while.

* * *

12:45 PM

Ok, I'm back.

While I was attempting to lose myself in thought, America grabbed my collar and pulled me into the water. Silly git.

My shirt stuck to my skin, my trousers were suddenly filled with sand, but I didn't care.

I realized something. I miss the sea. My days as a pirate may be over, but I still long for the Golden Age.

Maybe America will be a pirate someday. And we can sail together, raiding Spanish galleons and destroying French towns from the safety of the harbor.

Oh how lovely that would all be.

Anyways, after a game of tag and some unnecessary splashing, I returned to the shore. I put aside the beach towel for America, so now I am sitting directly on the sand.

It's warm and sticky against my wet skin. I don't mind. Today, nothing is really bothering me.

I have a cup of tea sitting next to me. It's somewhat cold now, but no matter. Chilled chamomile is actually quite nice.

I see America running towards me. He kicks up sand and flings water into the air when he shakes his head. Outlined in sunbeams, he's alive and fiery.

So much fire. So much passion in the tiny body.

"England, let's go shell hunting! Look at this one!" He skids to a halt in front of me. He's isn't even out of breath, amazing.

There's a pure white shell in his hand. A bleached conch.

"Wow, America, good find. What a beautiful conch shell."

"So it's called a conch. Cool." He grins and bounces up and down on his heels. "Now come with me. Maybe we'll find a whole bunch of these conch things!"

I sigh. "Oh, I'd love to, but I'm writing and my tea isn't finished yet." I smile up at him. He casts a deep, dark shadow over my body. Hmm, he makes a good umbrella.

"Come on, Big Brother! Don't be boring! Weren't you a pirate once?"

"Uh, yes." I can feel my face turning red. "But that was a long time ago."

"So what? You can still be a big, bad pirate. I bet you were the hero of the seven seas back then, right? Right?"

"I wouldn't exactly call myself a hero…" I lean back in the sand and squint in the harsh sunlight. "Listen, America. Now isn't the time for pirate talk. I'll tell you some stories later, all right? Now let me finish my tea."

His hands balls into fists and he stomps his feet.

Oh God Almighty, he looks so adorable with that pouty face.

His face is turning a slight shade of red. Um…what's happening? A tantrum?

"No! I want you to come right now!"

"B-But America, my tea—"

"Tea sucks anyways. Here, I'll finish it for you!"

"Hey, America get back here!"

He just grabbed my cup of tea! Where is he going? He's running down the beach, towards the ocean…oh no.

Someone, anyone, stop him! I call upon flying mint bunny, Sir Paul McCartney, and the great Albus Dumbledore…somebody do something!

Ok, the time for dramatics is over.

He just threw my cup of tea into the waves. There goes my chamomile and my Qing Dynasty tea cup I got from China. Oh well.

Hopefully, tossing tea into the ocean won't become one of America's hobbies.

Even if he did throw my priceless tea cup away, he's still cute. He's calling to me now. He'll probably slip into my room tonight, crying and saying he's sorry.

I should go look for shells with him.

Until my next entry, my dear, dear diary.


End file.
